


Entangled

by longwhitecoats



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Comfort Food, Feeding and Eating, Food, Food Issues, Food Kink, M/M, Vore Fantasy, Yuletide Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-24
Updated: 2016-12-24
Packaged: 2018-09-11 20:38:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9018748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/longwhitecoats/pseuds/longwhitecoats
Summary: Viktor and Yuri take a little time off to eat their way through Paris together.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Toft](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Toft/gifts).



“Let’s go to Paris,” Viktor says breezily as soon as Yuri’s done taking pictures.

Yuri is still dazed from the flash of camera bulbs and the shock of winning silver, both proud and disappointed. “What?”

“We have at least two weeks before the next competition.” Viktor slings an arm easily around Yuri’s shoulders. “Paris is practically next door. Come on. Let’s take a little romantic getaway.”

Some of the tension in Yuri’s chest melts away. “I thought you said you didn’t want to kiss the medal unless it was gold.”

Viktor just chuckles. “Sure. I never said I didn’t want to kiss _you_.”

*

Paris is exactly like the movies and Yuri can’t quite believe it. The first day, he’s bouncing off the walls, taking endless snaps with Viktor in front of cute little storefronts and famous landmarks, and of course with their food. By day two, though, the exhaustion of having been through the Grand Prix Final and broken a world record catches up to him. Nothing can wake him until well after lunchtime, when he opens his eyes only because Viktor is literally sitting on him, straddling his chest like a cat.

“Wake up, Yuri!” Viktor says, practically bouncing with cheer and excitement. “You’ve already missed breakfast. Surely you don’t want to miss lunch, too! And then we can buy some cheese, and there’s an ice cream place near Notre Dame...”

Yuri rubs at his eyes sleepily and grins, too charmed to be annoyed. He leans up, and Viktor stops mid-sentence to kiss him good morning. It’s a long, soft kiss, and the whole world seems to pause while Viktor’s lips are on his.

That just never gets old.

*

They’re tucking into some duck with glazed cherries a little while later when Viktor says, “Why do you only eat pork cutlet bowls when you win, Yuri?”

For a moment, Yuri blushes, thinking Viktor is being mean; but his expression is guileless, and Yuri relaxes, realizing it’s a genuine question. Viktor isn’t Japanese, after all, so he probably doesn’t realize it’s a homonym.

Yuri cuts into his duck and takes a bite, talking with his mouth full. It’s good duck, pink and tender in the middle, tangy with the cherries. “ _Katsu-don_ ,” he says, repeating the word, separating it into two parts: _pork cutlet – bowl_. “ _Katsu_ can also mean ‘victory.’ A lot of students eat them before their exams, for good luck.” He swallows.

Viktor’s eyes crinkle at the edges. “So I’m a beautiful pork cutlet bowl, too!” He laughs. Yuri tilts his head, not getting it. “In English, my name means ‘one who wins victory.’ A _victor_.”

He reaches across the table, adjusting Yuri’s ring flirtatiously. His fingers intertwine with Yuri’s, and Yuri blushes, pleased.

“Two beautiful pork cutlet bowls, together in Paris, the city of food.” Viktor sighs happily. “Perfect.”

Yuri eats the rest of his meal one-handed, unwilling to let go of Viktor even for a moment. In the back of his mind, he feels a strange sort of warmth at the idea of Viktor as a pork cutlet bowl: he imagines how tender the meat would be, how intricate the patterns of the egg on top; he thinks of how he would lick the bowl, catching every last bit, after he’d eaten Viktor all up.

*

“Oh, we have to go in here!” Viktor tugs at Yuri’s arm, practically dragging him into the chocolate shop. The smell of cocoa is everywhere as soon as they step inside. There’s a huge case full of chocolates; behind it, a man in a white apron stands with his hands folded.

“Bonjour,” he says cheerily. Yuri just nods, overwhelmed by the rows of intricately made candies. They’re so beautiful: little handmade milk chocolate leaves full of marzipan, painted glittering emerald green; fragile golden bees full of French honey, finely crafted from dark chocolate; and improbably, stunningly, little ice-blue mountains in white chocolate and sparkling sugar, filled with vanilla and orange ganache. He hasn’t seen anything as lovely since the last time he was in Tokyo.

He realizes Viktor is buying a box. A whole box! He looks again at the prices and begins to say that Viktor shouldn’t, but then Viktor just takes him by the hand and kisses his knuckles. The man behind the counter smiles. “Ah, la jeunesse!” he says, opening the case of chocolate.

Viktor buys two dozen chocolates for the box, and one in a little bag, which he hands to Yuri as soon as they’re out of the store.

“Go on,” he says encouragingly. Yuri opens the bag.

It’s a tiny heart: milk chocolate painted with a soft sheen of sparkling red dust. He didn’t see this one in the case, so he didn’t read the label that says what’s inside. He hesitates, looking at it. It’s so beautiful, he doesn’t want to destroy it.

All of a sudden, Viktor has him enfolded. His arms circle Yuri’s waist from behind, and the bags with their day’s purchases rustle together in front of him. Viktor is warm, and as he nestles his chin on Yuri’s shoulder, Yuri catches his scent, mingling with the smell of the chocolate.

“My heart is ready for you to eat, Yuri,” Viktor whispers. “It only looks hard, but inside it’s soft. It will melt on your tongue. Go on,” he repeats. “Eat my heart.”

Yuri’s breath catches in his throat.

He lifts the heart to his lips. At the first touch, it’s cold: all the chocolates are kept chilled so they won’t melt. But after just an instant of contact with his lips and tongue, the chocolate heats, becoming liquid. He allows it to melt over his palate for a moment, savoring the sweetness and bitterness; then he bites down into the candy, and with no resistance, it gives way to a sudden explosion of flavor. The inside is bright and intense, some taste that makes Yuri feel joyous and alive. Mango, he thinks, or perhaps—

“Passionfruit,” he says, licking the remains from his lips.

He feels Viktor’s smile against his cheek.

*

After that, it becomes their afternoon game. They sleep late; sometimes when they wake up, all they do is lie in bed and kiss. Sometimes they go out for a morning coffee and pastry, and Viktor ruffles Yuri’s hair to shake the “bed head” out. Lunch is a long, sit-down affair, and sometimes they talk about training or the next competition; at dinner, Viktor gets a little romantic and Yuri gets a little impatient, and they always walk quickly back to their hotel and their mutual satisfaction between the freshly pressed sheets.

But in the afternoons, while they’re strolling down the boulevards and peeking in shop windows, Viktor will find some reason to drag Yuri into a store and buy him a bite of something.

The second day, he buys a wedge of goat’s cheese so soft it practically dissolves on Yuri’s tongue. It tastes of dill, and a little of something animal that Yuri’s never had before. Viktor kisses the shell of his ear and whispers, “It’s my skin, Yuri. Do you like my soft skin? You can have all of it, it’s all for you.” Yuri just shudders with pleasure, feeling a growing tightness in his pants.

The third day, he does it twice: once at something called a “boulangerie,” which turns out to be a bakery, and once at a café where they sit down to rest.

“It’s my stomach,” Viktor says at the boulangerie, handing Yuri a fresh loaf with a hard crust. At Viktor’s nod, he tears into it with his hands, and he sees what Viktor means: a sturdy, rough outside, but within, the taste of sourdough, tangy and spongy. The stomach of a man who has won five gold medals.

At the café, Viktor insists on ordering for him: hot chocolate, thick and rich, with a little sea salt. It’s very fashionable, and it’s delicious, but Yuri doesn’t understand why Viktor keeps laughing behind his hand.

“You’ve already eaten this part of me,” Viktor says, beaming with mischief, and when Yuri understands, he blushes bright red to the roots of his hair. But he can’t stop grinning.

*

On the last afternoon, Viktor doesn’t buy him anything; they’re both too tired to leave the room and Yuri’s dreading the long flight tomorrow. They nap, their limbs entangled like so much egg, and in the evening, they walk half a block to the restaurant where they had dinner the first night, because it’s close by.

“Excuse me,” Viktor says to the waiter. “I know it’s not on the menu, but...” They talk for a long time; Yuri tunes it out, reading through the rest of the dishes and waiting to see whether Viktor will order for him. He finds it oddly restful, having food chosen for him like this. He realizes that food has been a source of stress to him for a long time now; it’s nice to just let Viktor worry about it.

Eventually, the waiter nods, and Viktor hands over the menu. “He’ll do it,” Viktor says, clearly pleased, and Yuri just shrugs and hands over his menu too.

It turns out later that the restaurant is owned by a French-Japanese woman, which Yuri supposes is not an accident; probably that’s why Viktor chose it in the first place. When the waiter returns and sets their dinner in front of them, Yuri actually laughs.

“Which part of you is this?” Yuri says, smiling.

Viktor’s eyes are a little glassy; he seems to feel very intensely about this one. “My love,” he says, and digs into his pork cutlet bowl.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to my incredibly fast and thorough beta, kutsushita!!


End file.
